


On My Knees, You Are How I Pray

by hedgerowhag



Series: Our Earthly Time is Sweetening [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Face-Fucking, Hux is trying to get shit done, Kylo is just a scared pigeon, M/M, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Russian Mythology, Terrible People in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/pseuds/hedgerowhag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eyes like embers in the night and breath like smoke, the stallion races through the forest as if no more than a wisp of the wind. So fast the beast goes there is little for Hux to do other than grip tightly on his mane and brace himself against the whips of the branches that scratch his skin and tear at his clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On My Knees, You Are How I Pray

**Author's Note:**

> Nikolai Gogol and Ivan Bilibin are top lads, pass it on
> 
> anywho. i really want to thank everyone for the wonderful responses that i got on the previous fic for this AU. i wasnt expecting anything since i really didnt think anyone would be into this, but sometimes im really glad to be wrong.  
> i came up with the ideas for the sequel midway through writing the previous fic and more or less nicked the idea of the moon and star snatching from N.Gogol but with added blow jobs
> 
> the title is from Religion by Lana Del Rey
> 
> feel free to get hold of me on [tumblr](http://beeeeebeeee.tumblr.com/)
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THAT THERE ARE MANY TYPOS WHICH I WILL CORRECT LATER ON

Caught in the black midnight air, the snowflakes linger and seem so motionless that it easy to think that they are the stars themselves - though the sky is clouded. As if after an age, they finally fall to the ground and cling to the carpeting of white so thick it swallows to the knee - it still grows by the hour.

For miles on there is not a sound but for the faint crackling of the fires in the timber huts of the village and the creaking of the snow as it settles on the roofs. Eventually, the clouds part and the snow seizes. The stars glisten like frozen dew on the long gone grass and, amongst them, the sickle moon glows and scatters its ambient light on the white fields of snow. The night grows peaceful.  

However, if someone happened to be walking between the houses of the secluded village on this particular night and peered very closely at the moon, they would have seen it flinch. If only for just a moment, the sickle silver of the moon moved.

This is because, amidst the glowing diamonds of the stars, a raven plucks at the sickle with its talons – trying to take it from its place. But as the bird touches the silver, it burns the creature viciously.

Squawking with anger, the bird flinches back and begins to flutter around the sickle, attempting to settle for where to strike again.

Inching forward, its wings fluttering furiously, the raven tentatively reaches for the pale blade of the moon again. Like molten white metal, it burns the bird and sets it spiralling away into the air once more.

Stubbornly, the black smudged shape of the raven returns and it begins to reproach, its eyes glinting angrily in the moonlight. At last, it strikes forward and this time, when it sets its talons into the white silver, it does not let go, even as it burns its vulnerable legs.

With a cry of victory, the raven dislodges the moon from where it hangs and with the brief flutter of its soot wings, it plummets down, taking the light with it.

Hurtling to the ground, the raven tumbles past the wandering herds of wispy clouds, past the stars playing chase and to the white coated roofs of the squat huts huddled around the pastures of the village.

Clinging onto the sickle with a single foot, the raven catches itself on the chimney of a house, setting a cascade of snow thumping down the roof. Struggling to remain on the chimney, the bird uses its beak to pluck the moon towards itself as it begins to slip.

Impatiently, the raven looks about, searching for the other shadow in the night sky. And suddenly, there, on a single patch of black-blue, the bird spots a star glimmering brightly before winking out of view, leaving an empty spot in its wake. Its neighbour follows in the same fashion: yawning widely with light and then disappearing from sight. And then another and another – this time somewhere else.

Bewitched by the sight the raven almost doesn’t notice the sickle slipping from its talons. When it finally feels its grip become oddly empty, it flusters in a cacophony of feathers and scrambles down after the sickle sliding down the slope of the snowy roof.

Feet pattering on the white coating, the raven catches the moon by its blade and heaves a panicked breath. If the raven drops the gem again, it won’t be able to catch it and the silver will escape the bird’s grasp for the final time this night.

A gentle _thump thump_ sounds behind the bird.

The raven cries out and turns, uselessly trying to appear menacing as it desperately holds onto the sickle in its clutch.

Behind the bird, on the crest of the roof walks a man, clothed in a long, heavy black coat that is tied at the waist with a sash of scarlet fabric, trousers of thick black wool and tall oiled leather boots. He appears noble and proud, perhaps a tsar in his own right.

Tucking back the copper of his hair, the man looks down at the bird and smiles – pale face shadowed by the high collar of his coat. “What have you brought me, you sweet thing?”

The raven squawks excitedly and attempts to approach the man, but the creature is dragged back by the prize that it guards.

Hux laughs, teeth bared. “What a wonderful gift,” he coos and leans down to brush his hand over the bird’s eager head. As he does so, something glimpses out from his sleeves: Like brightest, purest diamonds and opals, out glance the glimmering eyes of the stolen stars.

Mesmerised, the raven loses its grip on the moon again but before it can drop to the ground, Hux plucks up the sickle and pushes his opens palms against the silver arch which, like paper, crumples in his hands, disappearing out of view.

Unfolding his clutching fingers, Hux sees the sickle which is no more than a dazzling silver ring, beaming in his cupped hands, painting his skin in a snowy pallor.

“You have done well,” Hux says as he watches the captured moon glimmer for the final time before slipping the shining gem within the pocket of his coat. “We should leave – the bells will be calling soon.”

With his footfalls barely pressing on the snow, Hux walks across the roof with the raven ambling at his heels toward the edge. With one foot raised over the earth below, as if carried by the stray blow of the wind, Hux softly drops down from the roof to the ground – scarcely breaking a sound – and the raven follows him down.

Righting the flutters of his coat, without a moment to waste, Hux swiftly passes through the streets between the houses swallowed in the snowdrifts, rounding the squat fences and gates.

If someone had been watching him go, they would have seen that not a pace behind him follows a creature: a cat? No, perhaps a fox— No! A dog. Behind a house, down a wide road, the redhead walks and with him trails a black he-goat with a thick collar about its neck.

Somewhere, a door creaks and with a glance over his shoulder, Hux begins to run. Behind the tall rise of a timber wall he races, down to the southern path and to the cross roads that lead to the white fields and beside him is a galloping black stallion with braids in his mane and a heavy leather bridle whipping against his neck.

Without wasting a moment to pause, Hux catches the stallion by his mane and with a hand upon the horse’s back he wrenches himself up. With the bridle around a single fist, the charcoal beast arches its neck and breathes a heavy cloud of steam before kicking up the powder snow and running into the dark of the night under the light of the stars.

Through the pastures they pass and the dead fields speckled by low huts and farmsteads where the dogs bark when they sense a low breeze striking through the land but see nothing. Kicking the horse onwards, Hux laughs against the wind, his hair as wild as a flame in the race. Feeling its master’s joy, the stallion pushes on harder, breath like blue smoke billowing from its muzzle.

Out from the empty snowy planes, they approach the growing girdle of the forest where the sapling firs rise and the road begins to disappear. Not a yard they make from the village clearing into the road, when suddenly, like the wing of a monstrous bird, a net is flung out of the forest and onto the rider and his mount.

They hurtle to the frozen earth in a tangle of cloth and fur. Hux is throw out of the netting and onto the ground, rolling further down the road as the horse becomes more tangled with every kick of its legs. It pants and whines in distress but before its rider can approach in aid, out of the darkness of the forest edge, a company of armed men with horses appears.

The men grasp hold of the netting but as it tightens around the horse its form suddenly collapses and under their hands lies a wolf whose wet pink jaws are snapping in fury.

Calling to each other in victory, the men prod at the panicked beast with the points of their spears, laughing when it yelps in pain and begins to shift again – fox this time, to cat and then to dog, back to the wolf.

“Don’t you dare harm him!”

The men look away from their plaything to see the red-haired rider approach them, his face thunderous.

“Silence, you witch!” cries one of the men, the point of their rough-beaten sword trained on Hux. “We know that you are one of the devil’s servants and the same will be done to you as this runt trickster.”

Hux says nothing, baring his teeth, his hair of bloodied colouring clinging to his cold-stung features.

“We have seeing you coming to the village at night,” says another attacker, a man of the settlements noble family. “And in the morning, people find the throats of their cattle slit, blood drained. The swine are slaughter and the dogs have barked themselves hoarse. We know that it is you, _witch_.”

In the storm of these vicious words, Hux hears nothing for his mind is filled with the petrified whining of the dog that claws uselessly at the netting that holds it captured.

With every panicked moment, as the beast’s skin shivers and changes, what shape it takes becomes more and more peculiar; sharp tusks appear in the mouth of a fox, a donkey’s tail instead that of a wolf’s, a cat with a rabbit’s head.

“You will let him go,” Hux hisses to the men, but they pay no attention to his threats and instead take a second net and begin to approach him.

“I said, let him go!” Hux cries out storming forth and in the billows of his coat it remains unnoticed as he slips a hand into one of his pockets and out produces a broken ring of gleaming silver.

“We do no biddings of a witch,” shouts a man, his blade braced to aim at the red-haired captive.

With a venomous grimace Hux strikes his hand forth and throws the ring to the ground.

As it falls through the air, the silver swells in size and for a moment its glow outshined any God given light, blinding the crowded men that collapse to the earth in screams of terror – forgoing their grasp on the captured beast.

Hitting the white snow before the men, the silver sickle breaks forth in sparks of white and towards the skyward dome it rises, ascending in amongst the stars before taking its rightful place once more.

As the men continue to moan and whine from the pain of the blinding light, Hux runs towards the net beneath which lies the quivering shape of a wolf and throws it aside.

Hux urges the creature to stand, pulling it up by the scruff when its legs fail. Their pace rising, they run down the snowy path and not before long, Hux is holding onto the mane of the charcoal stallion who is bowing down in the urging for its rider to climb onto its back.

As they race behind the curve of the road, with every hoof beat striking the ground, waves of snow rise up with the bellow of a storm that gathers in the stallion’s wake. Higher and higher the snow rises with the striking arms of the wind so that when the men saddle their horses, they can scarcely see the road ahead.

At the girdle of the old forest depth, where the aged snow coated pines stand, the red-haired rider halts his stallion. Nervously the beast begins to meander in circles about the road, listening to the gallop of the pursuit over the roar of the rising storm.

The wind claws at Hux’s, yanking at his hair and stealing beneath his coat, urging to take cover before it takes him into the white grave of the dead earth, but the heat of Hux’s fury overcomes it all.

“Those fools,” spits Hux, his reddened lips curling. “They don’t know what it means to try and take what belongs to me.”

The hoof beat against the ground like thunder, closer and closer as the black stallion canters anxiously, snorting and throwing back its head as if to urge its rider on. But the beast is hushed and beckoned to wait. So it stands dutifully, its brown large eyes fixed on the growing shadows of the hunters.

When the faces of the men are almost visible through the hurtling clots of snowflakes, Hux reaches inside his left sleeve and from within takes a handful of glowing silver gems and raises his hand bearing above his head. Then, he hurls the gems before the hooves of the approaching horde.

Like embers those stones break against the snow and then spark alight as if rays of sunlight.

The horses clash against one another in terror, rearing into madness in the glow of the light, wild eyes rolling as their every sense commands them to run.

Driven to panicked insanity, some of the horses flee, flinging their masters from their backs as the silver gems begin to ascend into the air, darting off into the night.

“Come, Kylo,” Hux smiles, patting the neck of the impatient stallion. “We will show what it is to challenge us.”  

The charcoal beast snorts, unaffected by the light, and turns as his master commanded.  

In a flurry of snow they disappear, down the path between the blur fir, leaving behind the chaos of the pursuing company as the storm rises around them, the wind swooping down from between the trees and shacking awake the settled on the branches of the towering trees.

With his hair whipping about his cheeks, Hux turns back and watches as the galloping haphazard company attempt to catch them on their heels. They look stricken and terrified but also angrier and more desperate than before.

Grinning widely, Hux turns back to the path ahead and yanks the horse’s bridle, sharply pulling it to a halt. The stallion snorts, kicking its hooves against the snow impatiently.

“To the forest, my dearest,” Hux says, grinning viciously in the darkness. “We will show them the path.”  

As the riders begin to gain on them once more, the charcoal stallion stands upon its hind legs and darts over the frozen ferns, fleeing from the road into the low branches of the thick pine and fir – only the glint of its hooves to be seen.

Eyes like embers in the night and breath like smoke, the stallion races through the forest as if no more than a wisp of the wind. So fast the beast goes there is little for Hux to do other than grip tightly on his mane and brace himself against the whips of the branches that scratch his skin and tear at his clothes, trusting the stallion to know the way.

They hear the struggle of the ones they have left behind – their blunder through the thickets, the curses that sting their tongues as they find themselves unable to force their horses into the dark. Some are left stranded behind as the others force onwards after the shadow flickering between the snow dusted trees.

The men struggle through the tangles, shouting to each other as they become hindered by the fallen pines and the snow hidden burrows in the earth that send the riders and their mounts tumbling to the ground. And yet, some make it through and return to the chase as they see the witch’s red hair flicker in the darkness – pale laughing eyes watching them struggle.

Binding over the thickets of biting brambles, the riders force their horses onwards, taking what faint path they can find amongst the trees as the snow keeps on falling and the wind howling in the branches.

Suddenly, the darkness falls away and around them opens the white expanse of clear, flat ground that glows even in the murk of the cloud cover. The leader calls his men to a halt as the horses kick and snort wildly.

The world has become imperceptible in the haze of the falling clotted snowflakes that blind the pursuers as they linger on the edge of the frozen lake amongst the withered reeds.

“Could we have missed them?” one of the men says, wrapping his coat tightly around himself – the collar almost to his ears.

“There was nowhere else to go!” hisses another but both are quickly hushed by the man at the head of the company.

They continue to peer through the snow, looking to the opposing bank though they can scarcely make out its shadow.

Suddenly, a _clop_ echoes across the snowy ice.

Panicked, the men search across the lake, eyes wide and teeth clenched. Then, at the centre of the snowy plane, they see a single dark figure of a charcoal horse who like a stain on the white snow casts its shadow.

“There he is!” shouts one of the villagers. “After him!”

The horses charge onto the ice even as the leader of the company calls for them to stop – wait – but they don’t hear. Blindly, those men ride through the hurtling snow, their blades naked and ears deaf as ice begins to crack under the hooves of the horses.

Through the white of the snow well up the black tongues that lap over the ice before retreating soundly beneath. Another beat of hooves and as if an angered beast, the water surges up and pulls the legs of the horses through the cracks.

Cries of panic and terror rise in the air amongst the bellows of the terrified horses – hushed almost silent by the raging of the snowstorm.

Even as the riders’ claw at the submerging ice and the horses shatter the bones of one another in desperation to escape, the charcoal stallion continues to stand– silent – as it and his master watch the men become reduced to petrified animals as they are consumed by the black lake.

With a soft tug to the bridle, the red-haired man turns his horse around and they leave for the black bank of the lake. As they disappear between the fir, they pay little heed to the remaining men who stand on the solid ground, watching helplessly with terror as their kinsmen perish.

Losing his faith in his company, the leader of the pursuit turns his horse to follow the line of the bank, setting into a gallop as he ignores the distressed cries of the men out on the ice. What remains of the pursuers follow him reluctantly and set on the trail of the red-haired witch and his ungodly stallion who left not a single print on the snow where it passed.

Where the low branches shudder and the clumped snow falls, the riders follow and not far they make into the forest when they see a shadow disappear between the snow cloaked trees.

With wild cries of fury, the men kick their mounts into a gallop over the rotten ferns and through deep snow. Faster and faster they race between the crowding trees as the shadow falls within their reach, almost seeing the billowing clouds of steam that rise with the charcoal stallion’s breath but at the last moment it always veers away.

A hillock rises between low, thick pines and the stallion swiftly gallops onto it in a single stride. The red-haired man ducks against the horse’s back as it leaps off the crest, hooves not making a sound when it lands on the other side.

The horde follows, their stampede setting snow frothing beneath them and as they clamber onto the hill, they feel the ground tremble beneath them and suddenly, something cracks.

What foothold they had shatters as the ground opens beneath the company, swallowing the snow in its gaping ugly black maw. With screams of terror the horses and the men tumble down into the earths gut and break against the walls of root veined stone.

Into the darkness below they fall, crumpling in a tangle of human and animal limbs, shattering like egg shells in the black pit of the earth.

It lied in wait, this crevice in stone, beneath the felled branches of pine overgrown by moss under the thick cover snow. It shattered as soon as the riders stepped upon it, unable to withstand their wild stampede. But the charcoal stallion, it barely felt for the beast was no more than a whiff of soot skirting over its surface.

Now, somewhere in the forest, barely hearing the screams over the echoes of the howling storm, the stallion keeps on running, like a flash of a shadow between the trees with the whirlwinds at its heels, the weight of its precious rider on its back.

They don’t halt, not for a moment as the wind whips against them, as the snow crusted branches rake their crooked hands over their backs. They don’t halt even as the icy ground of the winter marshlands open around them and the barren birches barricade their path.

Between the trees, in the haze of the falling snow, an ember of orange light sparks.

The bridle is whipped against the stallion’s neck and heels dig into its sides. Like a thundercloud the beast races, to the timber house that traces out in the dark, never daring to slow its pace even for a moment.

Scant yards remain between the charging horse and the fragile walls of the house and with the final vault, the door flings open and the stallion leaps inside.

Onto the timber floor, like a thunderclap amidst the glowing twilight of the hearth, Hux and Kylo come tumbling with the snowflakes of the snowstorm chasing in their wake, both men almost colliding with the boiling cauldron that hangs at the centre of the room.

The door crashes shut and a bellow of laughter breaks free inside the cottage. A cat hisses and darts from the warmth of the hearth to the safety of the shelter under the table shoved at the far end of the house.

Sodden with the melting snow, Hux shifts and thumps down onto his stomach as he continues to laugh so hard that his chest aches and tears rise in his eyes.

Biting down on his lip, Hux brushes aside the clinging pieces of wet hair from his face and the last of the silver gleaming gems scatter across the rugs that lie like patchwork on the timber floor of the cottage. Hux smiles, a giddy laugh slipping from between his lips.

Turning to the side, Hux sees Kylo lying on his back, his cheeks ruddy and bare chest heaving, eyes closed. The fur on his legs and his hair are coated with snow that is beginning to melt but on his hooves there is no sign of the race. A hand absently brushes over the collar that wraps around Kylo’s neck and he sighs, shivering.

“My sweet thing,” murmurs Hux, “are you hurt?”

Kylo gulps down a breath and whispers, barely heard, “No.”

Hux smiles again, eyes creased with happiness. “You have done so well.”

Though Kylo says nothing, Hux sees the long, furred tail coil and whip briefly – like the wagging of a dog, it shows the creature’s pleasure.

The melt water trails Hux’s steps as he stands, heels of his boots clicking against the floor. Plucking up the scattered stones, he gathers them in his palms, watching their pale silver light dance on their surface like the firelight of opals.

Taking a wooden chest from a shelf by the hearth amongst the corked clay jugs, Hux slips the stones inside and swiftly clamps the box shut – the light extinguished.

Above, the wind continues to tear the roof and the locked shutters of the windows, catching on the overhangs and rattling the icicles that fall down like spears. It is cold beyond the walls of the house, but inside, the firewood crackles and pops, spitting embers out from the hearth into the shadows of the cottage.

“I’m sorry.”

Hearing the faint mutter, Hux turns. “Hm?” He watches Kylo shift on the floor, the bowed animal legs scuffing on the floor.

“I’ve failed. You let go of it because of me,” Kyo whispers, eyes mournful as they stare ahead at the rafters.

“Let go of what?”

“The moon.”

“Oh.” Hux smiles, fondness overwhelming his chest, lighting warmer than the fire of the hearth. “Yes, I let go of it.” He puts aside the locked box and walks slowly towards Kylo where he lies sprawled on the rugs, face in a pitiful grimace. “But I am afraid those fools were going to take something much dearer to me and I could not have that.”

Kylo sharply turns to look up at Hux, eyes wide and so hopeful it almost makes Hux’s heart ache.

“Do you—,” Kylo stutters. “A-Are you—?” He can’t quite form the words but they both know what he intends to say.

“Of course.”

Like an excited dog Kylo scrambles to his knees, crouching down in front of Hux as he wraps his arms around his waist, face buried against his stomach. Nuzzling into the rough fabric of Hux’s coat, Kylo breathes in the smell of the wild, feeling the folds of the sash belt scratch against his cheeks.

With a rumbling laugh deep inside Hux’s chest, gloved hands come to brush through Kylo’s hair, tracing the curves of his horns and tugging at his furred ears. Pressing closer, Kylo follows the touch, nudging his head into those clever hands as he hears Hux’s laugh softly.

In truth, Kylo would turn the earth inside out just remain here for all eternity, to be held by Hux and be cherished by him. Nothing would ever dare to stand between him and the warmth of Hux’s arms.

“I will not disappoint you again, I swear,” whispers Kylo, keening when fingertips dig into his scalp, scratching from the nape of his neck where the collar rests to the hairline.

“I don’t think you ever could.” Even as Kylo falls slack, Hux keeps him pressed close. “You are the most precious thing that I own.”

Breath is knocked out of Hux’s chest when Kylo surges to his feet and grasps his arms around him, holding him tightly as he bites Hux’s lips into a violent, possessive kiss. Shoved backwards, Hux stumbles as Kylo continues to lick into his mouth, swallowing down his moans.

Hitting the edge of the bed, Hux tumbles down atop the quilted covers and sinks into feather down, gasping as he tastes copper on his tongue. Kylo does not follow him, but instead sinks down to his knees in front of the bed, hands resting on Hux’s open thighs.

Tentatively, Kylo pushes aside Hux’s coat and leans forward, gently running his nose along the seam of the trousers, up to Hux’s groin where he halts and presses a single chaste kiss to the clothed hip.

Kylo looks up to the man who sprawls before him like a tsar and smiles down coyly from the folds of the fur collar. “May I?” Kylo pleads.

Hux bites down on a single gloved thumb and smiles down at Kylo. Lifting up a leg, he gracefully places it onto Kylo’s shoulder and presses down the heel of the boot against the centre of the broad back.

“Of course,” purrs Hux and shoves Kylo close until his face is buried in Hux’s groin.

Instead of pulling away, Kylo nuzzles closer, mouthing against the hardness he feels through the cloth. When hands take hold of his horns and force his face down, Kylo moans and the sound only makes Hux tug harder at Kylo’s hair as he feels himself swell with need.

His patience falling apart, Kylo wrings free of Hux’s hold and tears open the belt, slipping out of the loops and throwing it aside. With the clatter of the metal buckle against the floor, Kylo pushes away the frustrating cloth of the trousers and bares the pale softness of Hux’s skin.

There is slobber welling up on Kylo’s tongue as he sees Hux’s soft white belly peeking out from the beneath the folds of his coat and tunics. Beneath that smooth flatness, Hux’s hardening pink cock stands and Kylo can’t help but press a chaste and too brief kiss to the head before leaning over and burying his face against the softness of Hux’s belly. Gently Kylo bites at the skin and kisses it soothingly as hands come to play with his hair.

Keeping his face where it belongs, one arm hoisting up the thigh that rests on his shoulder, Kylo presses the fingers of his free hand into the juncture between the hip and Hux’s leg. He feels the pulse jump under his touch and nips at Hux’s belly.

“Such a sweet thing,” murmurs Hux with a delighted sigh. “So loyal to me.”

Kylo smiles against Hux’s skin and presses a sweet kiss and pulls away with reluctance. “Only to you,” he whispers and looks down at his prize.

Before him, Hux lies with a soft pink flush decorating his smiling cheeks, his eyes are glazed with warmth and contentment. Like the sweetest feast Hux is presented to Kylo – displayed for him under the candle light that drips like honey from his delicious flesh, left to be praised and devoured by Kylo.

Reverently, with his eyes fixed on Hux’s sly smirk, Kylo leans down and with the flat of his tongue he licks the hard cock from root to tip, catching on the crown – causing Hux to hiss with ill-concealed pleasure, his face twisting with lust. The skin is like velvet under his tongue, finer than any silk and it is Kylo’s greatest delight press kisses to it, to swallow down around it and feel himself choke.

Somewhere in the serenity of his mind, Kylo feels delicate hands take hold of his head by the horns and force him down until his nose is pressed down against Hux’s stomach, the booted foot upon his back keeping him there. Deprived of air, Kylo can do nothing but choke around the girth of the cock in his mouth, feeling slobber drip down past his lips and forcing himself not to bite.

When Kylo is lifted up by the mottled handfuls of his hair and horns, he whimpers as the last of the length slips out of his mouth – the head brushing against his lips, slicked with spittle and Hux’s own lust. Kylo goes to duck back down, his red tongue lolling from between his teeth, but he is quickly yanked away, his back forced to arch against the sharp heel digging into it.

The frustrated whine that elicits out of Kylo’s throat only makes Hux laugh. Toying with Kylo, he allows him lower his head but only slightly, permitting him to flick his tongue over the red, glistening head like a cat lapping at milk. Kylo feels those glassy beads of liquid well up under his tongue and licks at them away like drops of honey.

“Will you let me use you?”

Kylo looks away from his prize and lifts his eyes to Hux. His lips have been bitten red, swollen and cracked and the flush rises up, melting in with his red hair that clings to the sweat lingering like dew over Hux’s skin.

“Will you let me use your mouth?” he asks again. “I want those pretty lips of your around me, and that clever tongue.” Hux slips a hand from where it has been twisted in Kylo’s hair and trails it down to his jaw, tugging at the short tufts of the beard. A thumb brushes over Kylo’s abused lips, prying them apart and dipping inside. “Will you let me hold you down as I use you?”

With his jaw hanging slack and saliva dripping past his open lips, Kylo nods frantically, heat creeping across his face – having no shame even when he slobbers like a dog presented with meat.

Hux smirks viciously and licks his own delicious lips and curls his hands on Kylo’s horns, planting both of his feet solidly on the floor. “Open your mouth, my sweet thing.”

Kylo opens his mouth as wide as he can, feeling his jaw ache. Before he can gulp down one final breath of air, his mouth is shoved full and Kylo struggles not to gag when a pressure pushes against his throat. Offered no respite to try and relax around the intrusion, Kylo is forced down until his nosed is pressed against Hux’s stomach, jaw spasming with effort to keep it open as drool drips from his lips.

Lifted off once more by his horns, Kylo stutters out a breath through his nose, adjusting his tongue and easing his throat open for Hux. Beneath him, Hux rolls his hips and thrusts inside Kylo’s mouth, forcing Kylo to gag again. As he continues to move, the spit that runs down from Kylo’s lips and around the girth of Hux’s cock squelches with every movement, the sound filling the air around them obscenely. 

A hand slips one from one of Kylo’s horns and takes hold of the leather band that cuts across his throat. Four fingers are shoved between Kylo’s neck and collar, yanking it upwards until Kylo is struggling for air. With the cock forced inside his mouth and the squeezing hold of the collar, Kylo chokes, tears dripping down from his eyes and black soot flecks gathering in his vision.

Kylo had wished for Hux to mark his body as property - owned by Hux an no other. He had desired for a brand being pressed against his skin, sizzling and melting the flesh until he is numb from the pain. He had dreamt of a steel carving into him, leaving slick red trails for scars to smooth. But no, this is better than anything he could have ever hoped for: Hux claiming Kylo from within, reminding him who owns his life, who says if he lives or dies. To these hands, he will offer his life with the same ecstasy with which he offers his body.

When the pressure finally eases and the hand falls away from the collar, Kylo wrenches forward, grasps Hux by his rear and shoves his own mouth down until he has swallowed Hux's cock down to the root. Kylo hears Hux collapse down onto the bed, moaning and whimpering praises as Kylo wraps his arms around Hux’s thighs and licks around his cock – now free to do as he will.

There a faint tremors passing through Hux’s body that creep through him, sending shivers through his legs that are locked around Kylo’s shoulders. With every swallow that Kylo takes around his girth, Hux arches off the bed, crying out sweetly with encouragement – burying his hands in Kylo’s hair.

It is when Kylo feels the sharp heels of Hux’s booted feet scrape against the bare skin of his back that the sudden taste blooms inside his mouth. Not for a moment does he pull away from Hux for instead, Kylo drinks him up like wine – savouring the taste inside his mouth as the stream ebbs.

Pushing away from Kylo, Hux falls down onto the bed limply, legs sprawled, panting open mouthed as his hands cover his blushing features. Above him, Kylo kneels, his abused, red lips coloured pearly as they tightly clamp over the prize that he keeps on his tongue. Kylo washes this taste over his gums and the inside of his cheeks, rolling over the thick liquid before swallowing it down and licking his lips.

Suddenly aware of the obscenity of his actions, Kylo looks to Hux who smiles lopsidedly, brushing aside his copper hair that clings with sweat.

Gently, Hux nudges Kylo’s thigh with the tip of his boot. “Shall I return the favour?”

Kylo catches him by the ankle and raising it up kisses the boot on the instep. “No,” he says, nuzzling the oiled leather. “That was for you.”

Without waiting to hear Hux’s response, he claps both of his hands around the boot begins to pull it off, watching it slip away to reveal the tender fragility of the limb beneath. The second follows swiftly and, with Hux’s trousers righted, Kylo rises and pulls Hux to his feet. The gloves are removed and the red sash is unbound before Kylo tentatively pushes the heavy black coat from Hux’s shoulders.

“Are you trying to take care of me?” Hux asks coyly, watching Kylo pull the sleeves from his arms.

Kylo says nothing though he blushes furiously as he puts aside the coat and takes the edge of Hux’s outer tunic that is woven from heavy wool. When it slips over his head, Hux’s hair becomes ruffled into a damp disarray, the rough wool scratching his cheeks.

Fumbling, Kylo makes an attempt of folding Hux’s clothing but his fidgeting hands are halted by gentle fingers enclosing around his own.

Knuckles nudge up his chin and then Kylo is claimed in an open mouthed, lustful kiss, the suddenness of it makes his breath hitch.

Biting into Kylo’s lips and sucking on his tongue, Hux slips two fingers under his collar before tugging him down. Dizzy, Kylo moans into the kiss as the pressure that tightens on his throat, reminding him of the collars presence.

With the last harsh, lingering bite, Hux pulls back, the hand that remains on Kylo’s steadying the creature as he wavers. “No one is permitted to take that which belongs to me. Do you understand? I will leave no man unpunished if they dare to take what I own,” Hux says sternly, using the collar to be certain that Kylo is looking him into the eyes.

Kylo swallows, feeling the knuckles under the leather stab against his throat.

“Do you understand me, Kylo?” Hux repeats himself, shaking the collar slightly.

“Yes, I understand,” Kylo whispers hoarsely.

Hux yanks him down until they are at level, Kylo’s eyes fleeting from the burning intensity of Hux's gaze. “No one will take you from me because I claimed you and you are _mine_.”

Though Kylo towers above Hux, he feels small before him, as if he can be crushed by Hux’s very presence – like an insignificant rodent beneath his boot. “I am yours,” he whispers and bows his head.

This seems to please Hux as his hold on Kylo eases off and two gentle hands cup his jaw as a brief as a chaste kiss is brought with a feather light touch to Kylo’s lips. “Now go,” Hux says in a hushed voice, “rest. You have earned that much.”

The clothes that have been twisted in Kylo’s clenched hands are carefully taken from his grip and dropped down to the ground. Like a frightened animal in need to guidance, Kylo is turned around towards the bed and pushed down until he is sat on the edge. The heavy quilted covers are pulled back and Kylo is pressed by his shoulders to lie down.

Once Hux walks away, draping the covers over Kylo, he turns onto his side on the mattress and swing his hooved feet to hang from the edge; he has always felt too filthy to be permitted onto the bed, no matter his many times Hux has assured him that he does not care. So Kylo makes small compromises and Hux no longer scolds him.

The charred logs in the hearth are prodded with a poker, breathing embers into the house. The shadows quiver and bend with the dancing fires before which are dumped the sodden clothes and the boots perched to be dried and oiled.

Burrowed deep under the covers, Kylo attempts to remain awake and watch Hux wander about the house, tending to this and that. But even as he blinks away the sleep, Kylo finds the view growing fuzzy, the shadows deeper and the light brighter. It is only somewhere on the edge of his consciousness does he feel a weight press down on the mattress beside him.

The dark hours crawl by as the howl of the storm rises outside as it bends the tall, proud backs of the blue fir and the red pine. But as the night passes, even the cry of the wind begins to ebb away into silence and for a very long time the only sound inside the house is the gurgling of the water that spills over the rim of the cauldron.

Somewhere in the small hours before dawn, as the snow creaks outside, the covers on the bed shift, briefly permitting the cooler air into the cocoon of protected warmth. Hux does not shiver or shift as he feels the furnace of the presence beside him slink away.

“Hux? Are you awake?”

He says nothing, his breathing remaining deep and even.

There are faint clicks against the floor, something brushing against the mattress.

“I… I have to go,” Kylo whispers as if scared to break this fragile silence of the night. “I must see to that none of those men were able to make the journey home. I will return before the first bell.”

The softest caress fleets over Hux’s cheek, chasing away the clinging pieces of his hair from his skin.

“I promise I will come back.”

The covers are tucked around Hux and a soft touch is pressed onto his palm that rests open on the pillow, tracing the lines before disappearing all together.

The floor boards groan softly. A cat purrs as its small footfalls patter on the rugs. The door whimpers as it is opened, the cold air breathing inside.

There is a brief silence and Hux cracks open his eyes by a silver.

There is no light to illuminate from the outside but the dying glow of the hearth catches on the black, bristled tail of a dog glimpsing through the doorway, disappearing with the clatter of claws against the stone porch.

The door whines once more, creaking softly to a close.

The ginger cat sits on the round patterned rug before the doorway, licking its pink muzzle with a rough tongue. It kneads the fabric, looking so satisfied as if it just received a bowl of cream.

Hux reaches out from beneath the covers and taps his fingertips against the bedframe. Turning its head, the cat purrs and calls out in question before quickly skittering through the house towards the bed, coming to run full force against Hux’s hand and nuzzling against it.

Hux twirls his fingers lazily through the creature’s soft fur but with consciousness rekindling inside Hux’s mind he finds himself unable to remain in bed.

Kicking aside the covers Hux sets his feet onto the floor. The cat wanders in knots around him as he stands, whining and demanding for attention. But instead of paying any mind to the pestering creature, Hux takes up the wooden chest that he set upon the shelf and opens it by a crack.

The pearlescent light breaks from within, glimmering across Hux’s pale skin, setting his burnished hair alight like fire. Slipping his fingertips into the box, his plucks out two gems and clutches them inside his palm as he quickly shuts the box and sets it aside.

Holding the stones in a purpling grip, Hux heaves himself over the hearth to the nook in the stone and clay that forms the chimney. From there he takes the remains of a charred skull. The jaw is long gone and smoothed cracks decorate its crown but despite its fragility, it does no shatter when Hux presses the stones into the hollowed sockets, lodging them securely.

“Well, father,” Hux murmurs to the black skull. “Be of use to me for once.” He brushes his thumbs over the eyes of the skull and the silver light blinks in reply.

Clutching the glowing head to his chest, Hux goes to the door, barefoot, and steps outside.

In the forest, the storm has stilled. The ground is covered in a cloak of snow, painted blue by the clear sky of the early hours of the morning, disguising the veins of the swamps and buffeting away the prints of the wild beasts. There is not a sound but the gurgle of the running stream beneath the house.

Hux does not shiver when he walks across the ice crusted rock of the porch and down the steps to the snowy earth that takes his legs to the knees. There are black stakes of timber reaching out from the snowdrifts, crooked from the tread of the storm and bent back toward the cottage.

Wringing a sharpened pole of ash from the frozen earth, Hux lifts it aloft and pierces it beside the stone steps. Glancing down at the skull in his hands, he raises it over the pole and impales the head on the sharpened end.

With the eyes turned toward the black depth of the wood, the silver light shimmers across the snow like the flicker of a single ember. Hux watches it search through the forest, emptying the shadows of their darkness, waiting for the familiar flicker of eyes to emerge.

It is not a prayer that Hux breathes into the air that night as he stands in the snow before his home, but a demand – a command that cannot be denied, averted or bent. It carries through the air, singing with the frost and the blinking stars, hushing in the lingering breeze to reach out over the forest and the fields to the intended.

In the morning, when the red sun rises over the snow swept lands and the bells toll by the pastures, a wolf’s tread will be marked in the white, leading back home where the beacon calls.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> claiming that people are possessions is creepy and gross and it's safe to say that hux is both of those things so i think we can let him off the hook
> 
> in other news i keep thinking about who would other characters be in this AU? so i keep thinking about a tsaritsa whose son had been stolen the servants of satan but cannot mourn any longer as wars continue to be waged on the southern borders. there is also a noble warrior and a dvoryanin whose name is often mentioned in war stories but they never mention how soft his heart is or the small orange bumbling dog that always follows him. there is a girl who ran from a war pillaged settling into the black woods where she was found by the hobgoblins who raised her and taught her of the ways of the dark things. there is also a quick witted boy who has been snatched away by a witch of the forest, kept as a servant, but has ran away to the rus and became a soldier in their ranks.
> 
> EDIT: this is getting a part 3 and i hate myself so fucking very much


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